


Operation: Bento (Or, Hanzo and McCree Get A Dog)

by HardlyQuinn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Animal death at the beginning, Dogs, Don't worry it's not theirs, Established Relationship, Everyone else is here too but they're in the background, Fluff, M/M, Puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:17:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8677978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardlyQuinn/pseuds/HardlyQuinn
Summary: During a mission in Hanamura, Hanzo stumbles across an abandoned puppy and takes it back to Overwatch. McCree instantly transforms into the World's Happiest New Father.





	1. Hanamura

          It was a simple mission: get into Hanamura without alerting anyone to the return of the Shimada Clan heir, gather info on Talon's new 'friends', and get out. The team had done so many missions like this by now that they could probably accomplish them in their sleep.

          Which was good, because their sniper was about five minutes away from saying 'to Hell with this' and camping out on the floor.

          Hanzo had been in surveillance mode for the last twelve hours, watching Talon underlings wander dully around the compound outside a warehouse full of (no doubt stolen) tech. Normally, this wouldn't be an issue, but the weather had been uncharacteristically chilly for this time of year, and as such, Hanzo had not dressed appropriately. He had realized this almost immediately upon leaving the seedy hotel he and his handful of teammates were currently calling 'home', but he was damned if he was going to admit he couldn't accurately predict the weather of his own hometown and scurry back inside for a sweater. Ignoring a smug look from McCree, who had the foresight to bring one of his heavier serapes - the bastard - Hanzo had squared his shoulder and walked confidently off to the truck that would spirit them inconspicuously across the city.

          Several hours and the drop in temperature that followed sunset later, he was pretty sure his nipples had frostbite.

          He released a long-suffering sigh, allowing himself to sit back on his haunches in the shadows of the burnt-out building whose broken windows he'd been peering out of all day. His calf muscles were burning in protest from his previous crouch, and he mumbled a few curses he had picked up from McCree under his breath as he rubbed at them, trying to regain proper circulation. Stifling a groan, he slipped fully to the floor, leaning against the wall and stretching his tender legs out in front of him. He nearly jumped as his comms crackled to life.

          “Anythin' new up there, darlin'?” McCree drawled, followed by a quickly aborted yawn. Hanzo closed his eyes, running a hand down his face.

          “Not since you last asked me twenty minutes ago, no,” Hanzo mumbled. _God,_ he was freezing. He reached down to pull up the usually discarded left sleeve of his shirt, realized he'd already pulled it on several hours ago and let his arm drop back down into his lap, swearing. He could hear chuckling over the comms.

          “What are you laughing at?” Hanzo growled, wrapping his arms around himself to try and retain some warmth.

          “Ya sound a little cold, s'all. I can hear yer teeth chatterin' all the way down here.”

          Hanzo felt his face flush as he realized his teeth were, indeed, chattering, and he clenched them together, curling up tighter.

          “Want me to come over an' warm ya up, sweetheart?” McCree crooned into his ear. Hanzo groaned, letting his head drop onto his knees as laughter exploded from his earpiece.

          “Alright, lovebirds, back to work.” Morrison's tired voice interrupted McCree's laughing fit, but didn't quite stop it, as Hanzo could still hear quiet chuckling over the line. “Shimada, any movement up there?”

          Reluctantly, Hanzo uncurled himself and twisted around, stretching up on his knees to peer out the window. Two Talon agents had huddled together on the hood of a van outside the warehouse, apparently trying not to fall asleep. Hanzo took some satisfaction in the fact that their enemy was feeling just as miserable as he was.

          “Nothing to report.” Hanzo responded, curling up against the wall once more.

          “Alright, let me know if anything changes. If our target doesn't show in the next half hour, we're calling it off. Morrison out.”

          Hanzo let out a sigh of relief, rubbing absently at his arms to try and generate some warmth. At least they'd be out of there soon.

          Then he'd have Jesse to help him warm up...

          Hanzo smiled stupidly at the thought of crawling into McCree's lap and stealing his serape on the way back to the hotel, but frowned when he remembered that they wouldn't be the only ones in the van. Oh, well. He had heard Tracer whisper to Hana on more than one occasion that she 'shipped it' (whatever that meant, though it seemed to be positive) in reference to himself and McCree, and Morrison didn't exactly have a clean record when it came to public relationships with other Overwatch members. A scandalized Morrison would be worth the chance to warm up. Hanzo wrapped his shirt tighter around himself and got back to his knees, intending to resume his surveillance.

          Unfortunately, his legs had other ideas, as one immediately cramped all the way up his thigh. He hissed in pain, dropping sideways to the dirty floor as he inadvertently kicked out, trying to ease the spasm. His foot made contact with something small and metallic which immediately skittered off across the floor, bouncing off a nearby pile of broken crates. A soft whine rose up from behind them, and Hanzo froze.

          He lay completely still for several minutes, waiting to see if anyone outside had been alerted to his presence. When no alarm was raised, he slowly sat back up, careful not to put his full weight on his offending limb. He silently slipped across the floor, shifting aside a handful of crates as quietly as he could in search of whatever had whined at him.

          In a pile of tattered cloth and garbage lay a small, emaciated dog, wrapped protectively around something Hanzo could not make out. It was mostly black, with patches of tan and white across its nose and chest. A limp tail with a hint of a curl lay still behind it, twitching slightly as it spied the human intruder. Hanzo realized with some surprise that it was most likely a Shiba, popular among small game hunters for their agility and intelligence. What circumstances had lead such a usually prized dog to be found starving in the middle of a burned up building was beyond him.

          The dog raised its head only a fraction of an inch at his approach, attempting to growl out a warning but lacking any real power. Hanzo felt a wave of sadness as its head fell back to the floor, chest heaving with the exertion of its pitiful attempt at warding him off. Hanzo held out both hands, palms towards the ceiling and fingers splayed in a sign of peace as he knelt beside the poor creature. The dog made no attempt to move again, and Hanzo wondered if it was because it had decided he was not a threat, or if it had simply run out of energy to do anything but cling to life. Gently, Hanzo stroked along the dog's back, cringing at how cold it felt and the jutting ribs and spine beneath its filthy fur. The dog tilted its head slightly towards him, a hint of curiosity in its dim eyes as Hanzo murmured comforting words. A soft whine emanated once more from beneath the dog, and Hanzo carefully shifted the dog's body to uncover the source of the noise.

          Curled up tightly against the dog's belly were three painfully small puppies. Closer inspection revealed that two of them had already died, with the third close behind. Hanzo's heart ached at the sight of it desperately trying to nurse from its mother, who had nothing to give. Hanzo reached up to the ribbon in his hair, deftly slicing a long portion of it off with the help of one of his arrows and carefully laid it out on the floor. With a pang, he realized that the mother was no longer breathing, her eyes unfocused and body limp. Hanzo lifted the remaining puppy from its place among its deceased littermates and laid it on the scrap of his ribbon, wrapping the fabric securely around its small form to try and give it some warmth. The puppy made a squeaky attempt at a whimper as Hanzo picked it up, cradling it close to his chest.

          “ _-nzo. Agent Hanzo, do you copy?_ ” Morrison's voice crackled in his ear, annoyed. Hanzo grimaced as he wondered how long he'd been yelling at him.

          “I am here.” Hanzo replied, earning a frustrated grunt from the other end of the comms.

          “Took you long enough. I'd ask if you were busy making out with your boyfriend, but he's right here.” Morrison's voice cut out slightly at the end, the ensuing background noises suggesting he was trying to fend off McCree from grabbing his headset. “Hurry up and get back to the truck, we're leaving in two minutes.”

          “Understood.” Hanzo replied, tucking the puppy inside his shirt and holding it in place against his chest as he stood, stooping to retrieve his bow and quiver from the floor with his free hand. He turned to leave, then paused, setting his bow back down and kneeling beside the dead dog once more. He gave its head one final stroke before pulling one of the rags from beneath its form and draping it across the dead mother and her pups. Satisfied, he picked up his bow once more and sprinted out of the building. The truck was already on when Hanzo came into view, McCree stubbornly half hanging out the back to keep it from leaving. He beamed as Hanzo slipped past him, hopping gracefully up and inside to perch on one of the tiny, uncomfortable benches next to Tracer. Morrison scowled at him from across the narrow space.

 

          “What part of 'two minutes' did you not get, Shimada?” Morrison grunted. Hanzo ignored him, slightly adjusting the position of the small form hidden in his shirt. Tracer noticed and quirked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. McCree hopped inside the truck, slamming the back doors shut with a call to the driver to get moving as he settled himself onto the bench beside Morrison. The truck lurched into motion, McCree removing his hat and running a mechanical hand through his shaggy hair as he let out a long sigh.

          “Well, I'd say that was a productive day,” he drawled, grinning at Hanzo. Hanzo rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching up as McCree turned to elbow Morrison. “Whadda ya say, Jack?”

          “I say you shut your damn mouth.” Morrison grumbled, shoving McCree roughly away by the arm. McCree laughed, plopping his hat back onto his head before returning his attentions to the opposite side of the truck. He smiled.

          “Miss me, darlin'?” McCree crooned, leaning forward to peck a kiss on the tip of Hanzo's nose. Tracer made a good-natured gagging noise, sticking her tongue out at the couple.

          “At least wait until we're back at the hotel, loves.” She giggled. McCree gave her an exaggerated pout, reaching out to wrap his arms around Hanzo's waist.

          “But I haven' seen my sweetheart all day!” McCree whined, leaning in to rest his head against Hanzo's chest. Hanzo yelped, accidentally shoving McCree away harder than he'd meant to as he grabbed at the bundle of fur still snuggling against his skin. Hanzo reddened in embarrassment as everyone stared at him in surprise, a mix of confusion and hurt on McCree's face. Hurriedly, Hanzo leaned forward, gripping his confused boyfriend by the arm and giving him a quick kiss to convey he was sorry.

          “I apologize, I was afraid you might crush him.” Hanzo offered by way of explanation. When he was met with greater confusion than before, he sighed, reaching into his shirt and extracting the sniffling ball of fur.

          An almost supersonic squeal filled the back of the truck as Tracer clapped both hands to her mouth, mouth stretched wide in a smile that looked almost physically painful. Morrison started, leaning in for a better look as McCree stared open-mouthed at the creature in Hanzo's hands.

          “Shimada, where the _hell_ did you find that?” Morrison growled, frowning at the archer. “Is this why you weren't answering your comms? You decided to check out a pet store, instead?”

          “Oh, hush,” Tracer removed a hand from her face to flap it dismissively at Morrison. “He couldn't have gotten it from a pet store, it's too small.” She tentatively stretched out a finger, rubbing the tuft of fur on the puppy's head with a giggle. “Where _did_ you find it, love?”

          “It was hiding among the garbage, where I was during my surveillance.” Hanzo answered, lowering the puppy to his lap and glaring pointedly at Morrison, who huffed and sat back, arms crossed. McCree was still gaping at the puppy, his eyes wide and following its path as it wriggled around on Hanzo's lap.

          “McCree, are you alright?” Hanzo asked quietly, tilting his head and frowning slightly in concern. It was unusual for McCree to be silent for this long. With some effort, McCree pulled his eyes away from the pup and looked at Hanzo, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

          “Can I hold 'im?” McCree sounded like he might burst with excitement. Hanzo nodded, watching with amusement as the cowboy carefully lifted the puppy from Hanzo's lap and held it up to his chest. The pup gave a wide yawn, prompting a string of disgustingly sweet babytalk and cooing from McCree. Morrison groaned, clapping his hands over his ears.

          “It's bad enough having to listen to the two of you flirt over the comms. Do you really have to do _that_ , too?” Morrison griped. McCree's head whipped around to face him with a look that suggested his mother's virtue had just been called into question.

          “I will have you know,” McCree enunciated carefully, “that this here is a tiny, wonderful bundle of joy and warmth, and he will be treated with _respect_.” He returned his attention to the furball in his hands, holding it up to eye level. “Won't ya, ya beautiful l'il baby, you?” He cooed, rubbing his nose against the dog's. Tracer burst out laughing as Hanzo threw his hands up in defeat. Morrison mumbled a string of obscenities, climbing to his feet and pushing open the door to the truck's cabin before throwing himself into the passenger seat alongside the clearly startled driver. The door slammed shut behind him, eliciting another snicker from Tracer.

          “He must be more of a cat person.” Tracer mused, stretching her long legs out to occupy the space Morrison had just vacated.

          “Never understood those people,” McCree sighed, shaking his head as though feline lovers were one of the world's greatest mysteries that he would never be able to solve. He reached up and pulled his hat off his head, flipping it over onto his lap, placing the puppy inside and giving it a contented pat. “There ya go, partner. Should keep ya a l'il warmer.”

          At the mention of warmth, Hanzo's body seemed to remember that it had been sitting out in the cold for the better part of a day and gave an involuntary shiver, which he tried to hide by wrapping his arms across his chest. McCree glanced up at the movement, looking embarrassed as he unwrapped the serape from around his neck and passed it across the aisle. Hanzo snatched it up immediately, bundling it around his neck and shoulders haphazardly and snuggling into its warmth. The past fourteen hours seemed to crash down on him all at once, and Hanzo felt his eyes drift closed as he blearily noted that the puppy was now sound asleep inside McCree's hat.

 


	2. Bento

          Hanzo was vaguely aware of the truck lurching to a stop outside their hotel, doors slamming as the driver and Morrison disembarked. He pulled McCree's serape closer, grumbling as he tried to nuzzle deeper into the warmth without any success. A nearby chuckle made him crack one eye open.

          “Mornin', sunshine.” McCree nodded to him, still cradling the sleeping puppy in his hat. Hanzo shifted, finding with some amusement that Tracer had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He gave her a gentle nudge, eliciting a soft 'noooo' from the brunette as she was dragged back to consciousness.

          “Are we back, loves?” She yawned, stretching as much as she could in the small space. Hanzo nodded, all three of them flinching as the back door was wrenched open with a rusty squeal.

          “Alright, ladies, time for bed.” Morrison ordered, stepping aside to let Tracer climb out into the chilly night air. With a small wave, she took off in a blur of light, making Morrison grumble under his breath about 'kids having too much damn energy'. Hanzo crawled out next, wincing as his legs reminded him how much they hated his current life choices. He turned back to the truck as McCree slid out, his hat and its inhabitant cradled in his arm. Morrison gave him a weary look.

          “Jesse, you can't honestly be planning on keeping that thing.” Morrison almost sounded like he was pleading. McCree looked at him in confusion for a moment, following Morrison's gaze to the puppy asleep in his hat. He bristled.

          “That is our _son_ yer talkin' about, Jack,” McCree snapped, holding the hat protectively. Hanzo let out a helpless snort at the ridiculousness of that statement, shaking his head. Morrison looked to him for help, realized he was on his own and turned back to McCree, opening his mouth to argue.

          “I'll fight ya on this, old timer.” McCree warned, wagging a finger at him. Morrison stood there for a moment, visibly weighing his options. Having apparently decided this was one fight he was unwilling to lose precious sleep time over, he waved a hand dismissively and mumbled an 'as you were' before trudging off and into the hotel. McCree grinned, wrapping his free arm around Hanzo's shoulders. “Doin' alright there, darlin'?”

          Hanzo grunted in response, grateful for McCree's unnaturally high core temperature.

          “I have felt better.” He confessed, not bothering to hide his exhaustion now that they were alone. McCree gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, steering them towards their room.

          “Hang in there, Han. We'll have you all nice an' cozied up in a minute.”

          True to his word, McCree wasted no time in ushering his boyfriend into the warmth, carefully helping him remove his prosthetics before wrapping every spare blanket in the room around him. Hanzo didn't even bother to protest the fact that he was still in his day clothes, settling comfortably into his cocoon of blankets with a contented sigh. He whined when McCree moved away instead of joining him, earning a chuckle from the cowboy.

          “Hang on, now, I gotta get our l'il buddy here settled down fer the night, too.” He crossed the small room to where he had laid his hat on top of his suitcase, scooping the puppy out of his hat and giving it a once-over before tossing it onto a chair in the corner. “I thank ya kindly for not peein' in there, friend.”

          Hanzo snickered, allowing McCree to deposit the now awake and wiggling puppy into his arms as McCree scratched his head, looking around the room in thought. After a moment, he brightened, snapping his fingers and making a 'wait one second' gesture before striding out of the room. Hanzo watched him go, gently stroking the puppy in his hands as it let out a whimper.

          “Hush, he will return soon.” Hanzo murmured, allowing himself a small smile as the pup seemed to calm. They sat in silence for a short while, and Hanzo could feel himself on the edge of sleep when the door to their room finally opened once more. Hanzo sat up, checking to make sure he still had a hold on the puppy before turning to watch his boyfriend. McCree dropped a stack of raggedy washcloths and an old bento box on the bed, taking a seat next to Hanzo.

          “Alright, now, the lady at the desk was real nice when I explained the situation to 'er, an' she fixed me up with this,” McCree pulled the world's smallest baby bottle from his pocket, inside which sloshed a small amount of what appeared to be milk. “Turns out she's a dog lover 'erself, knew jus' what to do fer a l'il fella like this.” Carefully, McCree took the puppy from Hanzo, cradling it to his chest as he offered it the bottle. The puppy sniffed at the offered concoction, hesitantly mouthing at it as McCree squeezed a drop into its mouth. Smacking its lips appreciatively, the puppy latched completely onto the nib and began to feed.

          “There we go.” McCree crooned, grinning. Hanzo leaned into his side, relieved to see that the pup was not so far gone as to refuse food. Short work was made of the bottle's contents, and before long they were left with a much chubbier-looking bundle of fur than they had started with. The pup opened its mouth and released an impressive burp, nestling into McCree's hand contentedly. McCree chuckled, placing the now empty bottle on the small nightstand and reaching for the rest of the items he'd acquired from the front desk. With Hanzo's help, the washcloths were arranged into a small nest inside the bento box, into which the puppy was deposited once it had been removed from the remnants of Hanzo's scarf. Cooing reassuringly as he draped the torn gold fabric over the again yawning pup, McCree carefully positioned the bento box at the back of a low shelf inside the nightstand. He crouched on the floor, watching until he was satisfied that the puppy was settled before standing up straight and stretching widely.

          “Well, shit, that took a l'il longer than I expected.” McCree admitted, eyeing the clock that proclaimed it to be well after 2 am in bright red numbers. McCree yanked off his boots, tossing them into a pile on the floor as he stripped down to his boxers and turned out the light. He crawled into bed next to Hanzo, the latter humming happily as McCree wrapped his arms around him, tucking Hanzo's head under his chin and running a hand through his hair. Within moments, both were sound asleep.

 

          Much like a hormonal teenager, morning came too soon, with Morrison acting as the resident alarm clock as he slammed his fist against the door, calling out a twenty minute warning. McCree groaned as he spied the time, pushing the clock away with enough force to nearly knock it off the table.

          “It's barely five o'clock!” He moaned, hauling the blankets up over his head and attempting to go back to sleep. Hanzo sighed, patting the cowboy's shaggy head in sympathy before extracting himself from his blanket cocoon with some difficulty. He clipped his prosthetics into place and grimaced at the state his clothes were now in from having acted as pajamas. A quick sniff of his underarms confirmed he also smelled less than pleasant. Perhaps he would sit next to Morrison for the flight back to Gibraltar as retribution for their early morning.

          “Swear I'm gonna murder than man.” McCree grumbled, pulling himself into a sitting position as he ran a hand through his hair. Far from taming it, the mechanical fingers left clumps of thick brown locks sticking up in all directions, as if they were trying to escape from the cowboy's head. Hanzo snickered, coaxing a frown from the cowboy who spotted himself in the mirror, grimaced, and promptly attempted to flatten his hair back down, to no avail. Taking pity on him, Hanzo tossed him his hat, which McCree promptly shoved down over his ears. Hanzo shook his head affectionately, shoving their few belongings into a battered old suitcase with a peeling Overwatch logo. He jumped as a pair of muscular arms slithered around his waist, pulling him close to McCree's bare chest. Hanzo rolled his eyes as McCree nuzzled at Hanzo's neck, trailing light kisses from his jaw to his collar bone.

          “Jesse, we have to be out of this room in ten minutes.” Hanzo admonished, though doing nothing to prevent the progress of McCree's hands as they wandered down to his hips. McCree let out a thoughtful noise.

          “That's more'n enough time for me, darlin'.” He murmured, lifting his head to nip at Hanzo's earlobe. Hanzo let out a scandalized noise, swatting the cowboy away as he shoved the last of their things into the suitcase and zipped it shut. He turned, shoving it into McCree's arms.

          “How dare you!” Hanzo feigned indignation, stomping across the room and hefting up his quiver and bow, which he pointed dramatically at McCree. “I demand no less than _eleven_ minutes, _cowman_.”

          McCree laughed and dropped the suitcase to the floor, pulling yesterday's shirt over his head and reaching for his pants. As he bent down, he glanced at the nightstand and froze.

          “Uh, Hanzo?” He said slowly, eyes full of concern. “Where'd you put the puppy?”

          “What?” Hanzo stooped to look into the nightstand and the very empty bento box which still sat at the back of the shelf. He frowned, straightening up and glancing around the room.

          “Heeerrree, l'il fella,” McCree called, dropping to his knees and peering under the bed, with no success. He began crawling around the room, checking behind the drapes, under a chair and inside the trashcan. Hanzo pulled the suitcase onto the bed, flipping it open and shoving the contents around to see if the pup had somehow crawled inside.

          “Anythin'?” McCree asked, emerging empty handed from the bathroom. Hanzo shook his head. Someone began pounding against the door, and they groaned when they realized they were now five minutes late.

          “Have the two of you suddenly developed an inability to tell time?” Morrison demanded, shoving the door open as soon as McCree had unlocked it. He took in the sight of the half-dressed cowboy and mess of belongings spilling from the suitcase on the bed, glaring at Hanzo. “What the hell is going on here?”

          “We lost the dog.” Hanzo said shortly, piling their things back inside the suitcase as quickly as he could. McCree had dropped back to his knees and was searching underneath the bed once more, apparently checking for any holes the pup might have crawled into. Morrison took a deep breath and mentally counted to three before speaking.

          “Where did you last see it?” Hanzo raised an eyebrow in surprise at the commander's reaction, pointing to the abandoned bento box. Morrison picked it up, flipping it over to empty the contents onto the bed. “Yep, no dog in there.”

          “Heeeerrrre, Bento,” McCree called, letting out a series of short whistles as he sat helplessly on the floor, willing the dog to reappear. Hanzo gave him a look.

          “You named the dog 'Bento'.” A statement, not a question. McCree rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to make eye contact.

          “Well, I mean, I figured it made sense, ya know?” McCree shrugged. Hanzo opened his mouth to argue that a Shiba deserved a more dignified name than 'lunchbox', but was interrupted by a triumphant 'aha!' from Morrison.

          “Gotcha, you little-” Morrison held up one of McCree's boots, tipping a highly agitated puppy out and into his palm. Bento gave a small 'boof' in reply, attempting to escape as Morrison clutched it tighter. McCree jumped to his feet, reaching to take the puppy from Morrison, who quickly stepped back and out of reach.

          “You want this dog back, you get your asses onto the plane in the next thirty seconds.” Morrison turned and strode off down the hall, Bento whimpering sadly in his arms. McCree was dressed in record time, dashing out of the room with a look of fear and completely forgetting Peacekeeper in its secure spot under the mattress. Hanzo yanked it out, shoving it into his belt and hauling his bow over his shoulder as he dragged the suitcase down the hall.

 

          One of Overwatch's smaller transport planes was idling in a barren field next to the hotel, sunrise just starting to creep over the horizon as Hanzo jogged up, tossing his and McCree's suitcase to Tracer, who stacked it neatly alongside her own bag in a corner of the hold. The ramp closed as soon as Hanzo was on board, blanketing them in semi-darkness for a moment before the lights powered on. McCree was sitting as far away from Morrison as possible, stroking Bento's fur as he glowered at the commander, who pointedly ignored him. Hanzo dropped into the seat next to McCree, offering a finger to the pup to mouth at.

          “Poor guy's hungry,” McCree muttered, clearly upset. “I asked the lady up front to get some more bottles ready fer 'im fer the ride home, but I fergot to grab 'em before we left.” He gave Hanzo a pitiful look, looking truly distraught at the idea of passing another twelve hours before being able to feed Bento again. Wordlessly, Hanzo reached into one of the pouches at his waist, producing a bottle identical to the one from the previous night. McCree's eyes widened in surprise as Hanzo held the bottle out to Bento, who immediately began to drink. With his free hand, Hanzo flipped open the pouches at his side, revealing two more bottles. McCree rewarded him with the smile of a man truly smitten.

          “Have I mentioned I love ya?” McCree murmured, planting a soft kiss on Hanzo's lips. Hanzo looked thoughtful.

          “I believe you may have.” Hanzo gave McCree a rare, true smile, hidden from their teammates.

          “Ooh, they're starting early!” Tracer teased, a bright orange neckpillow snug atop her shoulders as she produced a blanket from her bag. There was laughter as Morrison promptly reached into his pocket, produced two of the largest earplugs Hanzo had ever seen and jammed them roughly into both ears. Tracer tossed Hanzo a thumbs up as she wrapped her blanket around herself, settling down for the twelve hour flight back to Gibraltar.

 


	3. Homecoming

          If yesterday you had asked Hanzo what sort of event might lead to a complete breakdown of order at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, he would have likely responded with 'a nuclear bombing', 'a repeat of the incident where McCree was given permission to play bartender for the members of Watchpoint for an entire weekend', or the sudden and inexplicable arrival of an entire fleet of Talon agents in Jack Morrison's bedroom. As it turned out, all you had to do was show up with a puppy.

          “ _Heaven forbid our enemies should ever find out_ ,” Hanzo mused, watching as Jack dropped into a chair in the corner of the rec room and poured a healthy amount of bourbon into his coffee from a silver flask. Everyone else was clustered noisily around McCree in the middle of the room, each vying for a chance to hold Bento.

          Upon landing back at the Gibraltar base, Jack had called an immediate meeting to discuss the failure of their mission and plan their next course of action. They had only gotten about five minutes into the debriefing when a high-pitched whimper had sounded from McCree, prompting everyone present to turn and stare at him with reactions ranging from amusement to alarm. Hanzo saw Morrison's eye twitch.

          “McCree, are you feeling alright?” Mercy asked quietly, brown furrowed in concern. McCree grinned sheepishly, attempting to subtly turn his upper body away from the eyes of the team. It didn't work.

          “What have you got there?” Winston questioned, putting down one of the several files he had accumulated in front of him on Hanamura's criminal activity and craning his neck to try and see down the table. Jack crossed his arms, glaring at McCree.

          “You brought it in here, didn't you?” Morrison growled. Hanzo gave McCree a look that clearly said ' _I told you so_ ' and nudged his boyfriend in the side. At the expectant looks from the rest of the team gathered around the table, McCree relented and turned in his seat so that everyone could get a good look at him.

          Slung across McCree's chest was his usual serape, carefully folded and wrapped around his torso to form a sort of pocket across his chest. Nestled inside the makeshift papoose was Bento, who sniffed the air curiously and released another whine. Tracer laughed as Hana let out a delighted squeal, making a smirking Lucio cringe. Mei cooed, Mercy quietly laughing into one hand as Zarya raised an eyebrow in surprise. Ana rolled her eyes, Reinhardt laughing heartily beside her. Pharah shook her head, failing to suppress a grin, in contrast to Symmetra, who looked so thoroughly unimpressed as to nearly match Torbjorn's stony expression. Junkrat was practically standing on Roadhog's lap in his attempt to get a closer look at the dog, forcing Genji to lean away in order to maintain some personal space. He leaned over and whispered something to Zenyatta, who chuckled. With a wave of one massive hand, Winston signaled for quiet.

          “Where on Earth did you find that?” Winston asked, watching Bento attempt to crawl out of his cloth prison. McCree gently lifted him out, placing him on the table in front of him. Bento's front legs immediately slid out from under him on the smooth surface, prompting another chorus of coos and giggles around the table.

          “Hanzo picked 'im up while we were pulling that stakeout,” McCree admitted, shrugging as Hanzo glared at him for throwing him under the bus. “We couldn' jut' leave 'im there.”

          “You didn't need to bring him in here, either.” Morrison groused, getting to his feet and marching down to McCree's seat. He held out his arms expectantly. “Give him here.”

          Shouts of dissent went up as McCree unwillingly handed Bento over to the old soldier, Bento crying pitifully as he was carried out of the room. Hanzo gave McCree's hand a comforting squeeze under the table while most of the team grumbled and cursed about their commander. Morrison returned without Bento less than five minutes later, dropping heavily back into his chair at the head of the table and glaring at its other occupants.

          “You can play with the puppy later,” Morrison started, shuffling his field reports around. “Now, as I was saying-” He froze, nearly dropping his papers as a scream echoed through the base. Genji burst out laughing.

          Morrison slammed his reports down, on his feet once more as he glared at the youngest Shimada brother. “ _What_ is so funny?” He snapped. Genji took another minute to seemingly pull himself together, though Hanzo could still feel his brother shaking with suppressed laughter.

          “I apologize,” Genji coughed, trying to stifle another laugh. “It would appear that my brother neglected to mention the nature of the Shiba Inu to the rest of our team. Namely,” Genji turned his head slightly towards Hanzo, who had no doubt that Genji was grinning from ear to ear beneath his visor. “- that they do not take kindly to being left alone.”

          Another scream rang out, longer than the previous one and followed by two shorter screams in quick succession. Morrison sank back into his chair.

          “You mean to tell me that _that noise-_ ” Morrison paused, another scream punctuating the air, “-is coming from _your brother's dog_?”

          “Yes.” Genji said simply. Morrison was completely still in his chair, staring first at the cyborg and then down to the reports laying in a mess on the table. After a long moment, he flipped the file closed, stood, and walked out of the room, dropping the file in the trash on his way by. Silence reigned until McCree shifted in his chair, grabbing everyone's attention with a quiet cough.

          “Sooo...” He said, a grin slowly crawling across his face. “Who wants to meet Bento?”

 

          It was after midnight by the time people began to filter back to their rooms, with Hana, Tracer, Mei, and, to Hanzo's immense surprise, Roadhog chattering about plans to visit the pet store in town. Genji and Mercy were the only remaining stragglers, the latter scrolling through a How-To article on abandoned puppies. She tapped at her tablet, humming in consideration.

          “The formula he needs is pretty straight forward. We should be able to make it using supplies we already have on base,” Mercy announced, turning the screen to show Hanzo. “It's really just a mix of milk, egg yolk, corn oil, and a bit of salt. And some vitamins, of course,” she amended, browsing through the rest of the article. “I'll want to check on recommended amounts before we give him any of those, though.”

          Genji propped Bento up in one hand, playfully wiggling the fingers of his free hand at him like a toy. Bento batted at a digit, looking determined. McCree chuckled.

          “I think he like ya, Genji,” McCree observed, watching as Bento batted at the cyborg a few more times before getting antsy and attempting to wriggle out of his grasp.

          “I generally find that I am more fond of cats than dogs,” Genji admitted, acquiescing to Bento's demands and placing him on the table in front of them. “However, the Shiba breed is much like a cat. This pleases me.”

          Angela clicked her tablet off and put it aside, resting her head on a hand as she watched Genji hold out a finger for Bento to play with. Bento batted at it half-heartedly for a moment before losing his balance and falling sideways onto the table, stubby legs pawing at the air. McCree chuckled, rubbing Bento's exposed belly. Bento released an indignant whine.

          “Do you have any idea how old he is?” Hanzo asked, helping Bento back to his feet. Bento stood there for a moment, let out a soft 'boof' and dropped back to the table, stretching his tiny feet out in front of him as his eyes slid shut. Mercy giggled.

          “From what I've read, I would guess he's only around two weeks old. I'm surprised he lasted this long, with his living conditions as bad as they were,” Mercy leaned over, rubbing one finger gently across Bento's head and earning another, sleepy 'boof'. “He's a tough little guy.”

          “Sure is.” McCree agreed, putting his head down on the table to be at eyelevel with Bento. “you got that from your daddy.” He crooned. Genji snickered.

          “Would his 'daddy' be you, or my brother?” Genji asked innocently, tilting his head to the side in mock contemplation. Hanzo glared at him.  
  
          “Genji...” Hanzo growled.  
  
          “I am simply curious as to which of you carried your 'baby',” Genji stated, scooting closer to McCree as Hanzo swiped at him, apparently forgetting he could not cover Genji's mouth to keep him from speaking. “Did you have ultrasounds? What color will the nursery be? Why wasn't I invited to the baby shower-”

          Unable to get around the barrier that was his boyfriend, Hanzo stretched out a foot and hooked it around the leg of Genji's chair, tipping his brother straight onto the floor with a resounding 'clang'. McCree howled with laughter even as he swatted Hanzo and bent down to help Genji to his feet. Hanzo smirked.

          “Let us hope he did not inherit your temper, _anija_.” Genji continued, completely unphased as he slid back into his chair and pushed it pointedly away from Hanzo. McCree threw his hands up in defeat as Hanzo pretended to swipe at his brother once more.

          “Well, we know he got my good looks.” McCree announced, puffing out his chest in mock pride. Mercy let out a squeak of laughter, cheeks reddening with embarrassment as the men looked at her.

          “Sorry, I just...” Mercy looked from McCree to the table, where Bento lay thoroughly exhausted but content from all the attention he'd received. “I just... I couldn't help but picture Bento wearing a little cowboy hat and serape." She dissolved into giggles again as Hanzo let out a horrified moan.

          “Please, Angela, do not give him ideas.” Hanzo begged. Genji snickered at the look of delight on McCree's face mumbling something that sounded a lot like 'too late'.

          “It would be so cute, though!” Angela laughed, looking only slightly apologetic.

          “Aww, I think it'd be a great idea, Ang.” McCree agreed, holding out the corner of his serape to rest against Bento's fur. “Whadda ya think, darlin'? Is red his color?”

          “I _think_ ,” Hanzo muttered, yanking the napkin that was beginning to take a suspiciously cowboy hat-shaped form from Genji's fingers, “it is time for bed.” He crumpled the napkin into a ball, flicking it back at Genji as he sat sulking over the loss of his creation. McCree gently lifted Bento from the table, his paws scrabbling for purchase against McCree before drifting off again.

 

          Bento yawned as McCree placed him into his overturned hat, carefully tucking an old serape that had been previously headed for the trash heap around his tiny body. The bento box had been left behind on the hotel bed in Japan, and McCree was adamant that their 'son' was going to have the best bed available. Why his hat fit into this category was beyond Hanzo, but he opted not to argue the point.

          “He really _would_ look cute with a hat,” McCree mused, scratching at his chin. “Maybe the girls can pick one up fer 'im while they're in town.”

          Hanzo sighed, pulling on an ancient Johnny Cash shirt he had stolen from one of McCree's drawers. “Can we at least wait until he is fully grown? Otherwise we will have an entire collection of differently sized hats.”

          McCree made a noncommittal noise as he sat back on his heels, watching Bento sleep. He sat considering for a long moment before reaching into their suitcase, extracting the ruins of Hanzo's scarf and folding it up carefully, draping it on top of the serape with a satisfied smile. He gave Bento one last loving pat on the head before getting to his feet.

          “What?” McCree mumbled, looking slightly embarrassed at Hanzo's questioning expression. “Now he's got somethin' from both of us.” Hanzo rolled his eyes but couldn't fight off a smile as he squirmed further under the blankets.

          “You are a silly, sentimental fool.” Hanzo yawned, rolling over as McCree turned out the lights and climbed in beside him. McCree wrapped one arm around Hanzo's waist, their fingers entwining as he settled with his head on Hanzo's shoulder.

          “But I'm _yer_ silly, sentimental fool.” McCree murmured, kissing the exposed flesh just above the neck of Hanzo's shirt. Hanzo smiled.

          “Damn straight, cowman.”

 

 


End file.
